


Trying

by computedwings280



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Kinda, PTSD mention p much, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, idk - Freeform, wrote this for vent stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/computedwings280/pseuds/computedwings280
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're Dave Strider and you're pretty messed up from the game, but at least you're trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying

**Author's Note:**

> guess what this makes?? no sense!! guess what i dont care about???? this making sense!!!
> 
> p much vent writing so it'll honestly be a jumble of shit.

Your chapped lips dance across her freckled, deep caramel skin. You pause at the crook of her neck and press your forehead against her. Soft sniffles ring through your ears and you cringe. You despise the fact that she's so upset and the fact /you/ caused it. Anger boils and churns in the pit of your stomach as you ball up her shirt in your fists. Gentle hands press lightly against your arms and her soft shaky voice tinkles through the air.

"Dave.." She pauses and you feel her trace her long slender fingers across your pale skin. "Dave," she says again this time pushing you a bit. Complying with her wishes you sit up straight to face her.

"Hmm? Yes, Harley?" You hum a bit and despite the steady slow drawl of your voice your body remains tense and your fists clenched.

She reaches a hand out and sprawls her fingers across your cheek, nudging at your shades but not quite pushing them up. "Calm down.. I-..I'm fine."

You don't believe her. You can't believe her. The both of you are piled on each other on top of your messy bed, sheets tangled and pillows drooping off the side, in the middle of your jumble of a room. You were collapsed there, Jade still crying and you angry. Angry at yourself. Angry that you let yourself say and do that to /her/. How could you believe those words of hers, now?

Jade rubs a thumb along your cheek and a few searing hot tears slip down to meet her fingers. Her own tears are drying but you can still see the pale orange light glimmer on her flushed and well tanned cheeks. Her big bright green eyes stare up at you, and you avert your gaze though you doubt she could tell with your shades in the way.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking /sorry/," you breath out and let out a choked sob. You're body shakes a bit and you readjust your grip on her baggy shirt. "I.. shit I didn't mean what I said."

"..I know," she replies quietly, but she paused before hand. She doesn't believe you. Or maybe she just.. thought you meant it at first.

You push off the bed and slip off the edge; your feet hit the ground with a dull thud. You can feel Jade's eyes following you as you head to the door, managing not to trip on the thick wires that run along the carpet. You have to get out of the room. You've shown too much emotion, said too much, done /too much/. The thought that maybe she'll take you leaving the room the wrong way slips your mind as you escape the stuffy area.

Once you reach the hall, you let your emotional barrier fall. Your face contorts as hot tears drop onto the worn carpet below. You remove your shades and welcome the dull pain the dim hallway light causes your eyes. Clutching onto your sunglasses you stumble into the kitchen and let them fall to the grubby white tile countertop with a clatter. Gripping the edges to keep your body up, you let out a shaky sob.

No, you can't make noise. You will only allow some tears to fall and only when no one is looking. She could still hear you if she listened. Even though Jade could easily bumble into the kitchen at any moment and see you, you could easily dry your face and cover your soon to be puffy eyes with your shades. A stoic look isn't hard to pull off and the counter is supporting your weight just fine. The one thing that's hard to cover up is sobs and labored breaths.

"Dave? Dave are you- Did you leave?" You don't pay attention to her words, her soft voice muffled slightly by the walls. Thin walls. All the more of a reason not to make noises.

Think of other things, kid... Think. Think.. No don't think. Just-.. One. Two. Tick. Three. Tock. Four. Five. Six. Tick. Tock..

Your mind spirals down into counting again. A faint ticking lulls you along as you fall into rhythm. Its been second nature since the game. Times where all you could think about was time sent you into hysterics but now- Now it's all you can do from going mad. Count the years. Count the months, the weeks, the hours, the minutes. Count the fucking seconds. Count them all and when you think you did it right go back and do it again. Count-

"Dave?" A warm hand presses against your back and you nearly jump out of your skin.

"Jade?" You say breathlessly. You didn't notice that you were shaking like a leaf and nearly sobbing and that your knuckles bore white. White as fucking snow from gripping the countertop like if you didn't that you'd slip away from reality completely. You didn't notice until now and oh god you wish you didn't.

Before you know it you're crumpled on the ground and Jade is speaking to you but her words are muddied and drowned out by the pumping of blood in your ears and the imaginary ticking in the back of your mind.

\----

41 days, 7 hours, 45 minutes, and 27 seconds. That's how long its been since your breakdown in the kitchen. 40 days, 1 hour, 15 minutes, and 19 seconds since Jade helped you make a call to get yourself some therapy.

You'd like to say you're fixed, but that'd be a lie. You'd like to say you'd never have a breakdown again, but that'd be a lie, too. You'd also like to say you have stopped trying to be stoic for the purpose of healing, but it's cut too deep into who you are.

You've managed to share whispers of information and feelings with Jade and with your therapist, but you always stray from the topic on hand. Your therapist is better than Rose in the sense you feel a little.. Less awkward since they're not your sister, but... It's impossible to spill the beans to a complete stranger. You can hardly tell Harley who's your girlfriend or even your best bros.

You.. God you're a fucked up guy, but at least you're trying. And that's a step to recovery.


End file.
